


You Cause the Rain

by TrappingLightningBugs



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bottom Oh Sehun, M/M, Mutual Pining, Smut, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, They're both assholes, Top Kim Jongin | Kai, minor homophobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8921038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrappingLightningBugs/pseuds/TrappingLightningBugs
Summary: Resident playboy Kim Jongin isn't used to being fascinated with people, and he certainly isn't comfortable with it. Oh Sehun is an enigma, and Jongin can't help himself. Years later, after a nasty break up, they come together once more--not because Sehun is ready to forgive him,  but because they're destined to be together, and Jongin knows he can't run from his fate anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written originally for SeKaiAngstFest, and came from prompt #41. If the original requester ever finds this, I hope they enjoy.

Sehun exhaled smoke through his nose, eyes staring somewhere past the clump of people that had gathered around him, like if he looked long and hard enough, maybe stars would appear. 

“How about ‘no.’” He finally answered, voice as light and emotionless as his facial features, “How about ‘fuck off.’” 

“I know we don’t have the best history,” Jongin began, sounding vaguely put out, like he found out he had to pay for his own beer and he left his wallet at home. “But it was one week, ‘Hun. And we were kids.” 

That was the wrong thing to say; Sehun’s gaze snapped to the handsome new pledge with a coldness that would have turned any other man’s stomach. 

“These two next, Minjun.” He called, left eye flashing blue for a second, before Jongin’s gaze went dark, a pair of strong arms restraining him and dragging him back. 

\-- 

_Of course he knew Oh Sehun—when you had the same people in every single one of your classes, you grew to know and talk to them, even if you weren’t really their friend._

_Sehun was one such kid; he hung out in the back, hair grown out a little too long so he could hide behind it, and he spent most of his free time playing some card game with two of the other boys that didn’t quite fit the mold._

_People teased them when they were younger, but after one summer away, they came back to see Sehun had grown several feet, his perpetually scowling features a bit more intimidating than they had been before._

_As he singlehandedly kept bullies away from them, especially as high school came, most people ignored Sehun when he wasn’t getting into fights with the people that were too stupid to know not to pick fights with him; there was something in the quiet nerd that almost felt dangerous at times, but while most people, including the bullies, feared it, Jongin ignored it, only paying him mind when it interested him._

_Jongin grew up wealthy, smart, and utterly indifferent to those around him, his condition only growing worse with age. His friends could bully kids out of school, out of their money and dignity, but he only saw the girls with their pretty pink lips and tight button ups._

_He didn’t care about any of them; his friends were people to have fun with, to enjoy the company of while he was out and to make fun of others with, if he wasn’t making out with them._

_People talked. Of course they did. It got to the point where whoever would leave the locker room with him (because he always went last) had their lips and hair examined to see if it had been hastily combed back into place. People tried to be disgusted, but they couldn’t hide their fascination with Jongin and his absolute hunger for people. It was just about the only thing that Jongin put more than mild effort and interest into._

_Minus a few slip ups, he tried to stay away from those in his class so he wouldn’t, so to speak, piss where he slept, and that resulted in his own class mostly spreading the rumors._

_“The other night—when they all went out—both of them—” “Inside one of the telephone booths—” “Nympho”_

_The rumors fed him and even if the sex wasn’t up to par, he came in glowing, feeling the eyes on him, the weight from people that knew what he had been doing, if not with whom. Jongin’s friends watched him like people watched zoo animals, and he had to fight, even in his awkward high school years, when his height caught him off guard, and his baby fat seemed to melt off of his face from one year to the next, to keep from grabbing each of them by their collars._

_“Why so serious?” He wrote them on Valentine’s day, leaving it written in red pen in their lockers. It made him angry, unpredictable, and that amazed him all the more when White Day came around, and he found one Oh Sehun back by his locker before class, pointedly ignoring his friends who far too noticeably weren’t staring at him._

_He cleared his throat and Sehun spun around, spidery arms coiling behind him in a poor attempt to hide what he had been trying to stuff through the slats._

_“You’re here early.” Jongin nearly laughed at the utter unabashed tone of it, even as he got caught in the act of putting something into a man’s locker._

_“Of course,” Jongin leaned up against the other lockers, ignoring one of the girls who had walked over like she had wanted to go inside hers. Well tough luck. “Cowards try to leave me chocolate without giving it to me personally, so I come early.”_

_Sehun inclined his head slightly. “Cocky of you to assume you’re getting chocolate.” And then the mighty, the feared Oh Sehun tried to retreat, for the first time in Jongin’s memory. He had to hold back a grin._

_“Where are you going with my present?” He called after the other, who froze. “Are you a coward, Oh Sehun?”_

_The unrestrained fury in the eyes that met his made his breath catch in his chest, bringing an uncannily wide smile to his face. That probably saved him one black eye that Sehun would more than repay him in a distant future._

_A small envelope flew at him, it heavy enough that it didn’t flutter to the ground, and he had to stoop to pick it up._

_Jongin slid it into his back pocket, but by the time he looked back up, Sehun was already heading back to his friends. His eyes gleamed; and he fought not to open the envelope right there._

\-- 

“This is hell week, faggots.” Sneered an angry voice, “If you’re going to make it as full-fledged members, that means you’re our bitches for the next week. _Comprendes_?” 

Jongin blinked a few times as his blindfold was dragged off, looking around the dark room curiously. Coming to the United States had been an action based on a single goal, but he had to admit he had always wanted to join a fraternity. 

They were in a windowless room lit by a single naked lightbulb that looked like every single cheap cop movie he had seen people eat up over in the States, though of course the Asian-only fraternity sort of killed that illusion a little bit. 

He stared up at a beast of a man, his chest rippling with cords of muscle thick enough to hang a child by, but his eyes gave away that he was just a juvenile player of this game, the fluorescents bouncing off of the whites with a mania that suggested he lived from beer to beer. Torturing the new frat initiates was just something you did—something to _bond_ with the others as you ran naked through a sister sorority’s party. 

Biting back a snort, his head fell to the side, and his gaze crawled up the man’s form, betting he would like being tied to the headboard of his cheap ass bed, betting he could put a zucchini up his ass and make him beg for another. 

A hand locked in his hair, yanking his head back with a surprised grunt of pain on his part. 

“Pay attention.” A familiar voice snapped. Jongin would bet his life on the fact that no one here would touch him without prior instructions or advancement on his part, so he didn’t have to guess who had just manhandled him. A less intelligent man would wonder at Sehun not being afraid to touch him, but Sehun had always been _different._

Blinking slowly, he listened to the tail end of the talk of the pledge: What he gathered, and what he liked about this frat was that they didn’t sugarcoat things. This would be a brotherhood, but rather than one of smashing heads together, chasing women, raping women, they were a society of excellence in their respective fields. People in this frat had the connections needed to make it in the real world before they even graduated. If you had a problem, you called one of your brothers, and they would “take care of it.” 

“Are we joining the mob?” Muttered someone to his left, only to swear colorfully when his head was yanked back. 

“For your first test, you’ll find a lovely gift basket under your seats. I do love a good Oprah reference.” 

The person speaking now was an average height, and average build for a Korean college student, and nearly lost Jongin’s attention right there, if he hadn’t already been paying attention. Exposed light bulbs had a way of washing people out, but something in this man’s eyes sucked the light right out of the air. 

A sarcastic scoff to his left drew his attention away from his mini-revelation, and he looked down at the crop tops they had been provided, the words “HELL WEEK” slashed across them in serial-killer pink font. 

“Just my style.” He commented, finally going to grab his own bag. 

The man he had been looking at snorted, and what could he say; Jongin had a weakness for those that appreciated his wit. 

Turning to him after he drew his own shirt out, he went to introduce himself, but found his words being prematurely cut off as the shorter man up front called, “Actually, group photo. Put them on. Now.” 

A lot of the wide-eyed initiates quickly shed their shirts, practically tripping over themselves in their haste to do as asked, not realizing that brown nosing could only go so far when they had to listen, or lose their chance to get into the frat. 

Jongin took his time drawing his shirt up over his head, unveiling the tight abdominal muscles that spoke of a hobby or obsession. He felt eyes on him, but he knew in the way they settled on his body hungrily that they couldn’t possibly belong to anyone he cared about. 

Pulling on his crop top, he leaned back against the chair, arms crossed over his chest, as the group stood up, milled about, then attempted to step into formation for the photograph the frat leaders wanted. 

When everyone stopped moving, Jongin rose gracefully to stand, hands pushed into his jeans pockets, before he turned around and offered the row of senior members a cocky smile. The photo snapped, then everyone was yelled at, ordered upstairs to the party that raged on while they played dress up. 

“If the shirts come off, you go out.” Yelled someone, the people daring not to groan, though some looked unhappy enough to have done so. 

Jongin glanced at the guy next to him, and for the first time that night he felt surprise wash over him; the super sarcastic, irritated soul that kept him company had the face Astrophil chased so desperately. The curvature to his lips, pink and plump, set stones in Jongin’s stomach. This was the face of a man that birthed sonnets from just daring to exist around others—the face that started from birth, and likely attracted the wrong kinds of attention when he was too young to know better. 

“They only bitch because they don’t look as good as me in the shirt.” Jongin decided to inform him. 

The boy glanced up at him—all long eyelashes and big doe eyes that seemed better fit to some spoiled child’s baby doll—and then smirked, all of the sweet innocence fading into something that could only be birthed in the darkest of internet histories. _This_ must be how the man defended himself: Those that got off on robbing innocence and the exploitation of others reveled in the ignorance of others, and the look on his face spoke of dark nights filled with smoke, no stars open to the sky at all. 

“I’m sure that’s exactly it.” His voice came out wry, and Jongin found his shoulders losing the knot they had gotten when the big ape had grabbed him upstairs. 

“I’m Jongin.” 

“Luke.” The man held out his hand for shaking, and Jongin eyed it. 

“Is there a problem?” The man stared at him, his affable expression settling into his usual comfortable scowl. 

Jongin shrugged, “It seems rude to shake on a fake name.” 

The man blinked, then snorted, “Literally every asshole in this country calls me Luke.” 

“And what does your mom call you?” 

“You’re not my mom.” He fired back. 

Wiggling his eyebrows, Jongin gestured for them to go upstairs, as everyone had either charged upstairs to start drinking, or hung around, hoping to hide away in the basement for a little longer. 

“So what brings you to the frat?” Jongin asked lightly, pretending to let his questions drop for the moment as his eyes cut across the party, looking for a certain game that could hopefully serve his purposes. 

“Same as you, I suppose. Parental pressure, a desire to succeed, blah blah.” 

Jongin held back the bitter laugh that wanted to escape, knowing he wouldn’t be able to convey exactly what was so funny to the other. “I suppose so.” 

His companion wanted to head directly for the kitchen to get a cup of beer, but Jongin shook his head, shooting the man a knowing look. “I know a better and faster way to get us alcohol.” 

Raising his eyebrows, clearly unimpressed, Luke waited to see what he had planned, as Jongin led him over to a game of beer pong. 

Snorting, he nodded, then shot him a look asking how exactly two new admissions to the frat could get in. 

Jongin ignored the look and sauntered up to the guy that looked more drunk, asking if he could use a pinch hitter. As Luke had predicted, the man raised an eyebrow, and shooed him off, proclaiming that he didn’t need the help of a new bitch. 

Then his opponent, a bigger guy, called, “Are you sure, man? You’re swaying from where I can see.” 

The guy took one more shot, but now he was flustered, and the guy across from them nailed his, making him drink. 

“Let the frosh try, he can’t be worse than you.” The other man called again. 

Angry, but recognizing that he had been backed into a corner, the man offered him the ball, which Jongin neatly dunked into the other cup. 

People let out a surprised cheer, and the game was really on, Jongin not bothering to check and see if the man with the fake name had stuck around, though when the game was almost won, someone called, “Wait, wait, he’s not drunk enough to be playing this game” and he found a red solo cup filled with beer being pushed into his hand. 

He turned to smirk at the man, only to find that Luke had his own cup of beer, mouthing “kitchen” at him, a smug look on his face. 

Jongin shook his head at him sadly, then gestured to the game, waving him over when the man looked confused. 

“Play me. If I win, you tell me your real name.” 

Luke snorted and shook his head, but Jongin wasn’t finished yet. “If you win, I’ll do whatever. Your choice.” 

He thought about it for a moment, weighing his options, then seemed to notice something. “Alright. We’ll keep it as an IOU for now.” 

“Deal.” 

Jongin and his spectators set up the game for them, and as both of them started drinking more and more, the crowd got larger, laughing at their antics as their throws got sloppier. The game took a lot longer, but when the crowd coaxed them into taking partners, Jongin scraped by with a win, laughing and then getting a big hug from the girl who had partnered with him. 

He winked at her, then moved over to the man, reminding him to pay up. 

Shaking his head, looking more amused than annoyed, he told Jongin, “My birth name is Lu Han.” 

“Lu Han,” Jongin’s eyes shone with satisfaction, though he hadn’t doubted that he would win for a second. 

\-- 

_In hindsight, that first interaction set an important precedent for their relationship; Sehun asked Jongin in sloppy handwriting not to read the note until he got home, and the boy utterly ignored that to read it when he went to the bathroom, only giving it that much privacy because he didn’t want the others to know what the letter said. Sehun had addressed him directly, and Jongin was nothing if not a fair player._

_He was profoundly disappointed for a moment when the letter only said “would you want to see a movie this weekend?” and had a phone number at the bottom, but then couldn’t deny the effectiveness of such a simple strategy. Jongin wanted a love poem that he could laugh at and tear to shreds—a fantasy that he and his friends could mock, but Sehun was all reality. If he wanted to know the motive, wanted to see why the other had reached out to him, he would have to take him up on this meeting._

_And so he did; this time he waited until he got home to text Sehun, telling him what movies he wanted to see, that he would be willing to go see with the other._

_Jongin would never admit it, but as he studied, he kept an eye on his phone, body tense as he waited to see what the other would say, how he would react to being told what to do. It was over an hour of distracted studying later that his phone’s notification light flashed, and it was from one Oh Sehun, the message preview only showing “Ur taste is shit.”_

_A startled laugh escaped, and for a moment he felt the floor pulling out from under his feet, Jongin desperately trying to ask himself why he should give a punk like that the time of day. He could have anyone he wanted at any time he wanted, and frankly people weren’t interesting enough to stick to for too long, and frankly he didn’t actually like Sehun’s bitch attitude._

_Then he got another text with one of his choices, and a time._

_Jongin exhaled, the intensity fading, and he reminded himself that Sehun was just a man—and not even that. A boy. Someone that couldn’t stay interesting for more than the minutes that technology held his words back._

_He sent an “okay” and a winking face, then turned his phone over to resume studying._

\-- 

His room was a basic dorm, down to the microwave and mini fridge, though it lacked a private bathroom. It felt a bit cozier than just a basic dorm, lacking the sterility, worn in ways a house used so much had to be, but it also gave the impression that you never wanted to go near the drains, or the corners of the bathrooms and kitchen. 

Jongin refused to be anyone’s mother, but he might call in cleaning services one day—dying of gout over in America was just too depressing. 

However, it would take him at least another day after move in to notice all of that, as his first night in his bed wasn’t met by a graceless morning of preparing for classes to start, but by the loud yelling of a crowd that had somehow gotten into his room. 

“Get the fuck up, bitch!” 

Climbing out of bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes irritably, he apparently hadn’t moved fast enough, a bucket swinging out of nowhere to soak him, a shocked gasp whistling out as Jongin’s sleep shirt and boxers clung to him. 

He looked for his roommate, but when he didn’t see him, reality crashed over him and he remembered that the man, Yixing, wasn’t new to the frat and had likely let the others in. 

“Prick.” Jongin spat under his breath, a hand going up to push his soaked bangs out of his face, hating how sticky he already felt as they ushered him out of the door where he met the other new initiates, their eyes wide with panic, blurry from the sleep they had been yanked out of. 

Jongin stumbled forward when a strong pair of hands found his shoulder blades, the man spitting, “Move it!” 

Genuine irritation bubbled up in his chest, and he nearly wheeled around to punch the guy, when a familiar face fell into line next to him. 

“Any idea what this bullshit is about?” Lu Han asked, and Jongin had to fight to keep from staring at the man in his thin white tank top, still amazed someone his age could be so delicate looking. Apparently whoever had woken him up had liked him a bit more than those that had woken Jongin, as the asshole was still dry. “And why are you wet?” 

Jongin just shook his head, pleased that Lu Han seemed to accept that he was the kind of person that knew things, and told him frankly, “Frats always do this kind of thing. I guessed it would be tonight, but—” 

He nearly said the water had taken him by surprise, but his words had been stolen from him by a pair of eyes, dark and angry, intense like they hadn’t been either of the previous two times he had seen Sehun since he’d come to America. 

Feeling his mouth go dry, Jongin’s confidence slid off of him like a dropped blanket, pinned under the intensity of Sehun’s look, and it was only the additional push from the man behind him that kept him moving. 

“Jesus, what was that?” Lu Han’s attention swung to Jongin, then back to look for Sehun, but the latter had disappeared into the crowd of hecklers driving the new initiates down the stairs and out onto the lawn. 

He blew his friend off as the front doors approached, their midnight mission looming out in the blackness, cell phones back lighting circling the crowd of initiates to make sure that no one tried to sneak back to bed. The night air hovered like a dream, cool and light on the tips of their noses and sunburnt arms. America didn't fear the sun like Korea did, and he rejoiced in its kiss, the darkening of his arms that no one called attention to negatively. Pride burned even more fiercely when he looked in the mirror, and he could believe he was meant to come to America if it didn't unsettle him so much. 

But the dark soothed him; he couldn't feel the concerned, prying gaze of Lu Han or the sharpness of Sehun’s gaze on him, like he would pin him between the pages of a book to dry out for a few hundred years. 

“Alright bitches, pants off. Underwear too if you're wearing them.” 

A collective disbelief settled over them, but they moved to obey slowly when the sharp smack of skin hitting skin rang out. These were to be their future brothers, and brothers could and would beat the living shit out of you if it suited them. 

Jongin moved fluidly to remove his boxers, hating the anonymous nudity—how his nakedness was only one in a crowd, a piece of an ugly whole rather than something beautiful to be admired. 

“Now you're going to take turns, one at a time, and you're going to tie your boxers to the flagpole going all of the way up.” When nervous muttering started, he elaborated, “Yes all of the way up. You losers have to figure it out, no putting pants back on. You have an hour, and then you have to meet us by the tennis courts.” 

Groans of protest started, even the half asleep initiates recognizing that getting across campus would take about 20 minutes if they walked, so they only had 40 to figure how to scale the pole. 

“We have to have a gymnast in here somewhere, right?” Lu Han voiced aloud. 

\-- 

_The movie ended up being stupid, but being able to laugh at it with Sehun made it feel like it was worth it. They didn't hold hands or exchange stupid looks and frankly if Sehun would have tried, that would have been it for him. High school, university and beyond he couldn't see ever wanting something that soppy; wanting someone who clung onto him like they wouldn't be able to breathe if he tried to leave, someone who was looking for a fairytale, a prince with a white smile and a kingdom to dedicate himself to. A person to dedicate themselves to._

_Sehun smelled like jasmine tea and sweat, barely masked. Jongin wondered what that meant, that he took the boy on a date, that they had shared popcorn, and that when their greasy fingers brushed that his thoughts turned darker._

_He knew what he wanted, but they were at the movie theater, and at least his mother would be home when he returned. Jongin repressed a sigh, already dreaming of his shower and its heavy stream that felt like hands stroking over his back._

_Sehun pulled him out of his reverie with his intense stare, like he was counting the pores on his nose, or all of the ways that Jongin looked similar to his first grade teacher. He never knew what the other was thinking, and the way he pondered things felt like too much, driving Jongin's mind in circles in the damned quiet. Breaking it was out of the question, but time seemed to slow down when Sehun held his silences, and Jongin’s animation had nowhere to go during those moments._

_“Are you thirsty?” Sehun asked as they passed a tea shop._

_“Why, you buying?”_

_“If we can find a bench.”_

_Jongin could have turned him down, could have made the rest of the walk to the bus station awkward, but he found himself saying yes, found themselves on a bench along a grassy path, the sidewalk lamps on, people thinning out to go home._

_He drank his drink, hating the silence until Sehun broke it, speaking thoughtfully, “This would be a nice place to run away.”_

_Jongin snorted contemptuously, “Who runs away to a park a few blocks from their house?”_

_“No, like...this is a good starting point. A point to stop existing.”_

_A cold breeze blew through the trees, the hairs on Jongin's arms standing up._

_“I wonder if the lost people ever come here.”_

_Jongin shot him a look, “You sound like an ass.”_

_Sehun shrugged, looking at the ground, “I guess I just want to hope for the best.”_

_“The best? How is people disappearing the best?”_

_“You know...magic being there.”_

_Disgust welled up in his chest, but he squashed it down, asking in a clipped tone, “Is this the confession where you admit you're “sad” and “nothing goes your way” and “life is so hard”?”_

_The taller boy stared at him, and rather than look contemptuous, he only looked solemn, like he couldn't take his disdain seriously._

_“Do you never get sad?”_

_“No, actually.” He spat, “Unlike some people, I'm not a loser.”_

_Sehun just stared at him, “Are you sure?”_

_His calm twisted something in Jongin and he stood up, voice peaking, “The last time I checked, I was the one with friends, and a social life, who goes out and has people chasing after me. You may have your dorks and your star wars or whatever, but you came to me, remember?”_

_Then, impossibly, Sehun smirked up at him, “And that's why. It seemed like you needed rescuing.”_

_His anger dropped to astonishment. “From what, pray tell?”_

_“Your high and mighty pretty boy bullshit.”_

_Jongin’s grip clenched around his cup, and his stomach fluttered and he searched for something, anything to say, but he felt frozen._

_“Yeah, well,” he tried, “At least I'm not a freak.”_

_Sehun's eyes swept up him, burning a path, and Jongin felt the impossibility of a blush sweeping up his cheeks. His eyes held a hunger that had Jongin struggling to breathe._

_“Are you sure?” Sehun drawled again._

\-- 

Jongin had to climb the pole. He had tried to convince more flexible people to do it, but in a group of future lawyers and politicians, they weren't exactly tripping over themselves to prove their athleticism. 

Tying several pairs of boxers to the top of the flag pole, attempting to catch balled up pairs of likely dirty briefs to tie them on the midway up, and nearly falling to his incapacitation had him more than a little pissed off—especially since those eggheads looked at someone who could climb a pole as a “good underling.” 

If they ever had to iron their own tighty whiteys, they would actually cease to exist. 

They had about ten minutes to run to the tennis courts, bare ass naked, but Jongin recovered a bit of his good mood when one of the boys ran into a girl walking home, everyone running all the faster when she started to scream bloody murder. 

The tennis courts hosted a mass of something that could be people, and the initiates came to a halt, everyone trying to hide their unease at the sight. Countless pairs of eyes shone in the dark, and they asked who climbed the pole. 

“Jongin did.” Lu Han spoke up for them, elbowing his friend lightly. 

Interest shone in a few pairs of eyes, countless more holding hostility. 

“I see.” Someone spoke, the mass growing a voice that sounded both mocking and grudgingly accepting. “Then Jongin is the one to beat.” 

The mass shifted, ordering, “Back to bed! Campus police have probably been notified.” 

\-- 

_The next school day they pointedly did not look at each other, and Jongin spoke loudly about how much the movie had sucked whenever someone teased him about it, emphasizing the “suck” so that they could think what they would, preserve their image of him. When he thought about the Jongin that stood there, the smirk that curled the edges of Sehun’s lips, his vision went red and he shook with rage. He had never before been that person, and he never again would let himself be._

_Sehun, on the contrary, seemed normal in the slight glances he took in of him, playing his game with his friends, lounging back and bored as he stared at a space over the teacher’s head when they spoke._

_He would later swear he hadn’t gone to the bathroom at the same time as Sehun on purpose, but maybe there was a hidden violent streak in him after all; a part of him that desired to make the boy suffer for the injustice of outsmarting him._

_When Sehun pushed out of the bathroom, he found himself being shoved back into the room, Jongin’s arms locking as he pushed, shoving him in, then back so he stumbled, long limbs clashing and nearly pushing him over before he regained his balance._

_Smoothing out his shirt, he inhaled through his nose and demanded, “What the fuck is your problem?”_

_“Sorry, didn’t see you there.” Jongin spoke lightly, voice going to a mocking higher pitch, “I’m a bit blind to losers’ comings and goings.”_

_Sehun staggered forward then, his eyes narrowing with threat, “Jongin. Move.”_

_“Or what? You’ll hit me?” He taunted, “Poor baby Sehun, getting so emotional when he got rejected—”_

_Jongin’s words were cut off by a pair of strong hands on the lapels of his jacket, and then a hard pair of thin, chapped lips on his. He had never experienced such a brutal kiss, the disdain as thick as poured syrup into coffee, and Jongin’s own disgust rose on his lips, but he found a side of himself peeling free of the pack, tracing the shape of Sehun’s lips methodically, a heat burning through where their bare skin met, it feeling like the other was burning, burning, cleaning out the excess and leaving only stunned, tender flesh where his lips used to be._

_His hands had risen to grip at the sides of Sehun’s vest, but when he pushed away, his grip was as strong as a dandelion’s resistance to the wind. He stared up at Sehun, genuine horror in his expression as he met a twin one, the fluorescents in the bathroom making his right eye look almost look blue for a moment._

_“Not much of a rejection when you kiss back.” Sehun murmured, and the words that could have sounded scalding came off delicately, candy-dusted, powering through him like a tidal wave._

_Jongin would deny it later, but there wasn’t anything else to do; he turned and ran._

\-- 

The next few days consisted of a variety of hazing that all blended into each other, featuring a scavenger hunt, fundraising in ridiculous costumes-slash-kissing booth depending on how attractive the initiates were rated, and following their “Big” around like their assistants. 

Jongin’s ‘Big,’ and oh how he hated that word, was the man that had grabbed his attention the first night with the knowing eyes. His name was Jongdae, but he annoyingly went by “Chen” since he “had relatives there and visited every summer and honestly just felt so connected to the culture compared to his Korean heritage.” 

“Someone put my Big in the dryer.” He said the first time he met Chen, and then proceeded to regret his existence when he woke up to find all of his shoes soaked in vinegar. Part of him really felt like kicking the shit out of Yixing, but when he asked about that night, he found out that he had spent the night over at his boyfriend’s room. Then, grudgingly, his irritation turned to respect for the man that had somehow managed to sneak into his room without waking him. 

When the last day came, their initiation, they had a big party after the ceremony, the Bigs hanging onto their Littles with pride, coercing them to drink more, go harder, because they had made it and now everyone expected excellence from them for the rest of the semester. Chen and he were still a bit at odds with each other, so he found himself tagging along with Lu Han and his Big, who brought them beers and kept ruffling Lu Han’s hair affectionately, like he was a little kid. Jongin took in the rage in his new companion’s gaze and part of him wanted to laugh, to point out how pointless it was to blame his features when he could have ruined himself somewhere down the line, but he knew his bitterness came from a week of the abnormal, a week of proving himself to hyper-competitive assholes who refused most of the time to be both smart and fun. 

He had settled down with a can of beer just as the party began to wind down, nursing a pleasant buzz as he took in the fairy dust hanging in the air; the men struggling to maintain their drunkenness, voices booming loudly in the kitchen, the couples hanging all over each other on the outskirts of the party, alone enough and American enough not to care about fucking on the couches. 

Jongin watched, laughing to himself about the lacking finesse, tallying up points between the two couples that he could see; one on a couch, another on the stairs. At the moment, stairs was winning, but only because he hadn’t managed to push the girl on his lap down the stairs, both of them too drunk for them to have settled into sex so effortlessly like that. 

He raised the bottle to his lips and he drank, draining the dregs out of the very bottom, craving his bed back home, the bite of homesickness so much sharper than vodka or whiskey or any of the other stupid things these wannabe grownups drained in a pitiful attempt to feel like they could control their lives and the amount of pleasure and disappointment present in them. He took another drink, toasting the couple on the couch, where the girl looked asleep, toasting his only friend there so far, with his complete inability to be taken seriously, toasting himself, alone and only kind of drunk in a frat party, in a strange country he had no desire to come to beyond his underwhelming understanding of “duty”. 

One of the steps further up creaked, and his attention rose to see how this other person would fare in trying to get around the drunken couple fucking, but he short circuited when he saw a familiar head of blond hair ( _blond, blond, he had dyed it, he looked so different_ ) emerge, the dull light revealing his features like a stage light showing the main character, center stage at last. 

Sehun was facing the way he had come, and his hand rested on the lower back of a short, fit man that had the fashion sense of a father from an 80s sitcom. 

When he turned around, his gaze slid over the room confidently, and for a moment, for a breath of a moment, Jongin wanted to see him, spot him and freeze, like a deer caught at the end of a hunter’s gun, and he wanted to see _him_ stare into Jongin’s eyes, which for once wouldn’t be sneering, but would be something softer, something almost _hurt_ — 

He wouldn’t. Couldn’t. And even if there had been a chance, when their eyes met, Sehun’s free hand rose to unveil a beer, toasting his ex with all of the mocking audacity that had made Jongin’s head spin back when he had the excuse of being a bumbling teenager. 

Jongin toasted him back, then shakily rose to his feet when they moved downstairs, not wanting to have this confrontation when Sehun could hide behind his date and liquid courage, but as he moved to leave the room, he heard Sehun call, “Jonginnie, where are you going?” 

Knocking him on his ass would feel so good. Spitting into his stupid, smug, American-ized face would feel better. 

Instead he turned around and called, “Didn’t want to embarrass your date.” 

“Embarrass me?” The man asked, frowning in confusion. 

“When you realized he’s already experienced a dicking in his life far superior to anything you’ll ever give him.” 

He turned to walk away then, but as the house had mostly emptied out as its occupants settled down or left, Jongin followed, dragging his poor date after him. 

“You notice how _you_ coincidentally came here your junior year, the school where I’m at? Isn’t that funny?” Sehun yelled, and once, for once, he had gotten under his skin, but he couldn’t even care. “Funny how you came all of this way and you’re still running. Isn’t this what you wanted? You brag about being the best lay of my life, but all you do is run. All you do is fuck things up, Jongin. Why don’t you go back to Seoul? Why don’t you go fuck up someone else’s life for once?” 

The stranger stared at his date, unprepared for the crazy that had just come out of his mouth, but Jonging kept moving, whipping around, feeling something seize hold of him so that he moved back toward Sehun. “You know. You have to know why I’m here.” 

“I don’t have to know shit.” His voice came out flatly, his eyes two pieces of flint in his pale face. Jongin wondered if he put on sunscreen religiously, or just avoided daylight activities. “I could give a shit—” 

“Babe, what’s going on?” The other man interrupted, “Do you—who is this guy? Are we going back to your place?” 

“Yes, you are,” Jongin answered for him, “And I’m going back.” When Sehun opened his mouth to protest, he raised a hand, “You’re drunk. I’m in a fucking terrible mood. We’re both here all semester, and we’re in the same frat.” He ignored how Sehun’s bitch face came back with a vengeance at that reminder. “We have time. All of the time. We’ll talk later.” 

Sehun’s stranger tried to lead him back into the house, but Sehun stood his ground, just as thin as he used to be, though his presence felt more like a force of nature, movable only by his choice, and his eyes burned against the backdrop of the moon. He didn’t say a word, but Jongin knew; if they spoke again, it would be against his wishes. Sehun really, truly, wanted nothing more to do with him. 

Or, so he thought. 

\-- 

_The fourth time it happened, Jongin began to feel something new pulling in his gut when he saw Sehun; when their eyes made contact across the room, something heavy settled in Sehun’s expression, and he would smirk slowly, like they had a secret, like Sehun was blackmailing him, like Sehun had seen him kissed breathless enough times that he could imagine it just by glancing at him. Fear. Hot and spidery, crawling through him, starting at his stomach and working its way through him, culminating in the sweaty, tangled sheets that he woke up wrapped in, his nightmares telling him they were Sehun’s arms._

_Jongin tried to ignore it, but it seemed every time he went back to fetch something from an empty classroom, Sehun snuck after him, and they settled against the blackboard, hands growing more confident as the incidents passed: One brought Jongin’s hands to Sehun’s nonexistent ass, two brought the exposure of Sehun’s pale, thin chest, and the fourth…_

_“You’re…” Jongin broke the kiss, stunned into disbelief as his hand curled over Sehun’s clothed erection, not even rubbing him as he registered the size. “Holy shit.”_

_“Shut up.” And then Sehun, ice queen, impassible Sehun was blushing._

_Jongin pulled back, and the hand that had been tangled in his hair moved down to trace his cheek, Sehun ducking his head. The light hit his cheek at a new angle, revealing a pale scar that traversed his cheek vertically._

_He frowned, surprised he had never seen even a hint of the blemish before, and he found himself asking, “Where did you get that?”_

_Sehun hadn’t caught the memo to move to another subject. “My dick? Do you really want to talk about my conception right now?” He shifted to look at Jongin again, an embarrassed hunger still present in the glint of his eyes._

_“Not that.” Jongin shot him a look, “The scar on your cheek.”_

_“Oh.” Sehun cleared his throat, and the mood changed from charged to something less certain. “I’m surprised you noticed it. It’s from a bad fall I took as a kid—I was riding my bike, got distracted, and next thing I knew I was flying into a concrete fountain. Supposedly it shouldn’t have scarred, but it did.”_

_Jongin found himself tracing the scar again with his thumb, pointedly not looking at the shiver that produced from the other. He could joke about the irony of the injury, how most injuries worked, but frankly he didn’t care enough to make some big philosophical observation._

_“I’m surprised you don’t have more scars from being such an asshole to people.” Jongin commented, and smirked smugly when that drew a startled laugh out of the unsuspecting Sehun, who then punched his arm angrily for swinging the mood so wildly around._

_“I’m surprised you don’t have any on your thighs or back.” Sehun retorted, “If you’re supposedly as good as you say you are.”_

_But as much as Sehun could get under his skin, he couldn’t win when the topic was sex. “Would you like to see for yourself?” His smirk was wicked, and it didn’t fade even as Sehun reinitiated their kiss, bringing them together once more. Words could get them both in trouble—kissing was way simpler._

\-- 

Jongin had eased his way into the frat the way he always managed to; he found the smartest, most attractive of the new initiates, and he traced the way his ass swelled under his jeans, undressed him with his eyes, touched just enough to have the man panting for more. 

Having someone so smart, and apparently straight under his thumb confused the others, and while many settled on his being an unintelligent sex addict, the label came with the uncertain fear that Jongin thrived on, the way their eyes cut to him making him laugh near hysterically when he would take time to think on his position. 

Classes passed with Jongin writing up psychological profiles for his new bedmates, inventing all kinds of ailments that might explain the smug incompetence he dealt with on a daily basis, the man amazed how little he had to study compared to his university back in Korea. 

Idleness often got the better of him in the form of doodled, scornful eyes, a bowed mouth pulled slightly up into a smirk, and occasionally, a hand, pathetic and mutilated. Jongin wasn’t an artist, dammit, but when Sehun came to mind, he thought of the fearless way the man conducted himself, the way he never hesitated before touching Jongin. So many of his lovers trembled at his touch, in disbelief, and his beauty would incapacitate them, daring them to touch the living, glorious state with the barest hint of pressure. 

Sehun, he knew in the way he stared at him, in the stubborn, almost angry way he undressed him, wanted to break him. He touched him like an artist shredding their best work, dragging reverent hands down his torso, back, legs, barely easing up even when he would touch his cock. Every moment they spent together, minus one, Sehun could have passed off his feelings for Jongin purely as hatred. 

A flash of blue haunted his nightmares alongside the waking sight of Sehun with that short man from the party. It seemed ludicrous that Sehun could date when he knew who his soulmate was, but by God, if anyone could fight the good fight against fate, it was Oh Sehun. 

“So why does Oh Sehun constantly look like he’s jamming hot pokers up your ass in his mind?” 

Jongin paused, trying to figure out what the hell a “poker” could be, before deciding that it couldn’t be good, no matter what it was. 

“He’s just jealous he can’t get this.” He told Lu Han. 

“Then why do you look so desperate whenever you see him?” Lu Han’s eyes flashed with triumph, his body tense, waiting for the rejection of the idea that Jongin had to come back with. 

Jongin turned away, hoping for an instant that something would come down and sweep him back to Korea, preferably to high school where he didn’t know what he knew, and have the lingering, cloying feelings of having Sehun hate his guts. 

“Well?” Lu Han prompted when he only wet his lips. “What’s the story?” 

“There isn’t one.” He tried to say, but his voice came out weakly, and he cursed his own wavering tone. 

Lu Han looked at him curiously, then asked, seeming to change his mind, “So there’s no reason he looks like he wants to kill you every time he even glances in your direction?” 

Jongin shrugged, and there was the weakness again; the tightness, the anger, and the utter abandonment of his strength. Countless late nights of internet research told him that the unraveling came from the estrangement from his soulmate, which only made him angrier, more hopeless. Who knew how Sehun felt, but no matter how “bad” it supposedly was, he was more than willing to deal with it. He felt like a different person, like something was draining his essence out. 

Exhaling, tasting his own defeat, he stared down at the floor as he admitted, “He hates my guts. I kind of broke up with him back in Korea.” 

“Unlucky you both ended up here then,” Lu Han replied mildly, like he had suspected, but something still wasn’t adding up. “Wait. You’re a junior, aren’t you?” He whipped around to fully face Jongin, an incredulous expression on his face. “Don’t tell me you came here for him.” 

Jongin shrugged, kicking back in his chair, a bit revitalized just by saying it. “I won’t. But it would be the silence of a liar.” 

Lu Han snorted in disgust. “And here I thought you were a manwhore. But really you’re chasing so many asses to make up for the crown ass that you can’t get.” 

“Actually…it’s a bit more complicated.” Jongin glanced up at one of the higher windows, staring out into the gray midday sky. “We’re sort of soulmates.” 

Silence met his words, but he steadfastly kept his gaze outside. Lu Han’s opinion of him meant about as much as everyone else’s, but that didn’t mean he was a masochist. 

“You broke up with your soulmate back in Korea.” His voice came out slowly, like he truly couldn’t believe how stupid Jongin was, “Why would you do that?” 

“And that’s a lot more complicated.” Jongin’s tone took on a sharpness that he hated, a serious tone that made him want to retch, “But I can fix it. I’m here to fix it.” Finally he glanced at Lu Han, taking in his dubious expression. “He’ll come around.” 

Lu Han, to his credit, only raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything in reply. 

\-- 

_The first and only time he ever had Sehun over was the night his parents went to help his older sister move into a new apartment—they had warned him it would take most of the night, and that they would probably just stay on her sofa bed. Jongin got out of it on the principle that he had a test coming up that Monday and that he really needed more time to study for it—and that an empty house would allow him to be productive._

_His father had squinted at him, but for the most part they thought their son was an angel, and the far and few between accounts that might tell them otherwise weren’t anything to really concern themselves with; they knew who they had raised._

_Or so they thought._

_Jongin didn’t bother to watch for him; he didn’t want to see Sehun if he squirmed on his doorstep. Frankly, somewhere along the line he began seeing things; little glimpses of a person underneath the cold, the cruel laughter and looks, and he didn’t want to see anymore. Getting involved with people was for his own amusement, and unlike when he usually picked secrets out of his bedmates, it was for future games, or just to put them on edge, but with Sehun, he got this look in his eyes, sobering as a Monday morning in the breath after you shut off your alarm for school._

_The weight of it felt like the force in a nightmare that keeps you from running away from the boogeyman just behind you—like everyone else was moving normally, but he lost hours in the seconds when Sehun reached for his hand and he had to decide whether to speed up and have it slip naturally out of his grip, or to just yank his hand back._

_When the doorbell rang, he vowed to end it after that night._

_Jongin yanked him inside, shutting the door with a firm slam that had him wincing on instinct, pulling Sehun flush to him by the hem of his shirt, uncaring if he stretched it, because the next time they met, they wouldn’t be on speaking terms. He wouldn’t have to hear about it._

_Their lips met in a confident tangle, the heady rush of heat starting where their skin pressed, spreading from the hungry lips to palms that brushed hairlines, to fingertips that skimmed the lower back right where the t-shirt rode up._

_Sehun sucked in a breath, and Jongin followed him when he leaned away, nipping insistently at his upper lip, worried he might try to speak if he let him catch his breath._

_“Wait,” he insisted, turning his head away from Jongin’s lips. His hands went down to pull his shirt up and over his head, “Missed you, too.”_

_Jongin pointedly didn’t reply to that, yanking his own shirt up and over his head, before he was on the other again, hands settling on his hips, lips parting around Sehun’s thin lower lip, sucking on it, trying to get them more contact, the heat broiling under his skin, pushing the discomfort of the gentleness to the forefront of his mind so that his thoughts burned, searing behind his eyelids._

_Sehun’s arms wrapped around him, going up his back so his hands rested on his shoulder blades, the grip soft, more like he was trying to reassure himself that Jongin was actually there._

_Anger had his toes curling, and he pushed Sehun backward, nearly shoving him into a table littered with family pictures. Watching him stumble elicited a vicious sensation of triumph, and Jongin strode toward him, imagining just for a second that Sehun’s face paled as he looked at him, his emotions being stripped down to the most basic fear, like he saw the truth of Jongin’s thoughts for the briefest second._

_His hands pushed up into Sehun’s hair, and they kissed open mouthed, tongues meeting with equal strength in the middle, though Sehun seemed to be giving him the go ahead to lead unhindered for once, something that almost made Jongin pull back. They had waited so long (for him), and if after all of that time it was unwilling, everything Jongin thought he knew would be turned upside down. And he wasn’t going to be happy._

_Pulling back, he looked into Sehun’s eyes, and asked, trying to keep his irritation restrained, “Is there a problem?”_

_“This is it, isn’t it?” Sehun’s voice came out quietly, like when he was bored, except his eyes held so much more._

_Jongin froze; how could he have guessed?_

_“I mean, parents not being home, we haven’t really had a chance like this before…” He glanced down, that painful anticipation turning into nerves. Nerves Jongin could handle._

_“Hey,” his hands tightened in the boy’s dark hair, dragging his gaze back up to his, “You not feeling it?” But even as he asked, he let his body skim against Jongin’s, a barely restrained smile dancing across his face._

_Sehun sucked in a tense breath. “That’s it. I am. I want to touch you, but—”_

_Jongin didn’t wait to hear what he was going to say; he brought their lips together in a quick kiss, then murmuring, “Then touch me. Do everything you’ve been thinking about.”_

_Incredibly, his gaze went up to the ceiling, like he was saying a prayer. “That’s just it. I’ve been thinking about…”_

_“About?”_

_“You.” He breathed, finishing before Jongin could cut in with a sarcastic comment, “On your knees.”_

_Jongin’s tongue moved to wet his lower lip almost unconsciously, and Sehun’s face went bright red. It wasn’t a question of wanting to suck his dick or not, and while Jongin usually didn’t afford his conquests the pleasure, it had been a while since he’d given someone a blowjob, and it couldn’t hurt to test his skills._

_Pushing Sehun back, back, until he met the wall of his living room, Jongin stared into his eyes wolfishly, trying to restrain his excitement at being able to soon pull the other apart with just his mouth._

_“I don’t want to do you in my living room.” He murmured, stepping into Sehun’s personal space, feeling his excitement pressing into his leg with an excited jolt down his own spine._

_“Which room is yours?”_

_Jongin reached down and twisted a door knob, quirking an eyebrow in suggestion to the other, who darted in after a brief glimpse down Jongin’s arm._

_The first thing Sehun saw, drawing him to a complete stop, was a portrait of a nun, prostate on her knees, praying to something. It took Sehun so aback that he didn’t jolt when Jongin’s hands went to rest on his hips, shifting forward so his body fit against the other’s ass._

_“What.” And his voice came out so flat and disbelieving, so like the Sehun that Jongin had known before he knew him, that it made Jongin’s breath catch a bit. Hints of the ice queen lurked behind this soft thing he had found somewhere along the line, and it hurt a little when he would see bits and pieces of it._

_“L’appel du vide.” Jongin hummed, pressing a kiss to Sehun’s pulse, “Do you like it?”_

_Sehun shot him an incredulous look, and Jongin pressed another kiss to his bare shoulder, whispering, “Take a closer look at her face.”_

_Frowning, the boy did as requested, though he swore her face was hidden in shadow, and he stared at nothing for a good 20 seconds, straining to see something. Right as he went to turn his head to complain to Jongin, he saw it in the change of the faint light; a mouth full of sharp teeth, smiling, and one eye, bulging, staring._

_He yelped, jumping back into his host’s hold, who only rubbed his hips sympathetically, before sinking further down to draw his boxers low on his hips._

_“What the fuck?” Sehun gasped._

_“Cool, right?” Jongin nearly sucked a mark onto his neck, but then reconsidered figuring he wasn’t actually that cruel._

_“How do your parents allow you to have that?”_

_Jongin shrugged, not wanting to talk about his artwork, like they had a future or something. “If you don’t like it, go up against that wall.”_

_“How do you sleep with that in here?” Sehun asked insistently, turning in his hold._

_At that moment, Jongin shoved him back against the wall, into the gap between his wardrobe the corner, and he was on him, hands pressing to his chest, mind briefly thinking of suffocating him, or reaching through him to grab his lungs and squeeze, to make him stop looking at him like he just discovered he had a test copy with no answer key._

_Jongin moved fluidly, dropping to his knees in front of Sehun, hands going up to roughly yank his boxers down the remainder of the way, but right as he went to lean in, he felt hands, gentle and large, carding through his hair, brushing his bangs out of his face._

_Weakness flooded through him and he looked up into the gentle eyes of the other boy. “It’s okay, you know?”_

_And somehow that was the worst thing Sehun could have told him; Jongin shut his eyes, trying to shut this out and not think about it, not think about the way Sehun’s left eye would flash blue in those brief moments of understanding they shared, or the way that even having his hands in his hair made him feel feverish._

_He leaned in and kissed the head of Sehun’s cock, plush lips parting after a breath, tongue coming out to taste the precum, before he took the head into his mouth, sucking in a practice breath through nose as his tongue then went to trace around the exposed head._

_Sehun gasped at the first contact, his hands tightening in his hair, and that, that Jongin could deal with. He sucked experimentally, listening to the pleased sigh of the boy above him, then started to push down further, wondering how much he could take._

_Mere centimeters, and then Jongin’s hands were iron, holding him back. “Take your time.” Sehun spoke, voice firm, though it was undermined by the slight trembling of his hands._

_Jongin looked up at him, trying to hide how little he wanted to do that, but he obeyed, sliding down him carefully, tongue tracing the vein on the underside, then up, over the velvety, heated skin, and for the first time in a long time, Jongin disconnected, watching the pair of them as he sucked Sehun’s dick. He had said it was practice, but he watched the way his eyebrows bunched up, the way shame filled his chest until it was nearly overflowing, until it nearly reached his distended consciousness floating a meter away. He was sucking the dick of someone he was dumping the next day. What a fool, what an idiot._

_And incredibly, he watched tears bead at the corners of Jongin’s eyes, anger twisting into something uglier, for a brief second, before he snapped back into his body._

_Moving in to save himself, he started bobbing his head harder, going as far down as he dared, setting a quick pace, the wet sound of Sehun’s cock dipping in and out of his mouth filling the room._

_“Woah, hey,” Sehun gasped, but the pleasure undermined his grip. Jongin went until his face like it was aching, but Sehun still didn’t come._

_When he pulled back, any and all urge to cry subdued, he looked up at the other, panting slightly, his own erection partially gone from the exertion._

_Sehun just looked down at him, then held out a hand. Jongin only took it because he could feel the ache in his knees._

_“You didn’t come.” He winced at how hoarse his voice sounded._

_“Yeah, well, I figured you wanted more.” Sehun shrugged, offering him a small smile, and Jongin wondered how much he had seen in that exhibition, how much he had given away about his own feelings._

_Jongin sighed quietly, giving himself one last moment of vulnerability as Sehun wound an arm around his waist, steadfastly ignoring his cock to draw the other to him, hugging him so his erection wouldn’t press to his stomach or ass. “You got a little sloppy. We’ll have to work on that.”_

_And the audacity of that, the sheer ridiculousness of that after such a tender moment, realigned Jongin’s views, drawing a startled laugh out of him, before he turned back to Sehun, who looked at him knowingly. Jongin could tell what he saw in that moment; pretty fuckboy Kim Jongin who didn’t know how to be intimate with someone he ~really cared about~._

_Tangible anger reached him again and he clung to it like a lifeline, guiding Sehun over to the bed, gesturing for him to lay down._

_“Am I…?” Sehun swallowed nervously and Jongin unconsciously brushed his fingers against the boy’s lower back._

_“I’ll be careful.” That much was absolutely true—it would be a cold day in hell that someone wouldn’t enjoy sex with him._

_Sehun searched his gaze, eyes heavy with his own stipulations, but he ultimately nodded and went to lay down, propping up his hips with one of Jongin’s pillows, stretched out in the bright moonlight like an offering to some base God._

_For a moment, the painting felt like a worshiper of him, and Sehun felt like his sacrifice; a pretty, young virgin sent to be defiled and killed by the hungry, insatiable darkness._

_Jongin wasn’t religious, but after he fetched his lube and condom, and had to take in Sehun’s flushed appearance again, he nearly dropped his items to pray over the statuesque figure laid out just for him. His beauty was really nothing to scoff at; he could believe in the power of night time, the magic of moonlight, like if for one night, he had been so good in a past life that a statue, one of Michelangelo’s or something of its ilk, had come to life and sought him out._

_He swallowed, and for a moment, he didn’t think as he moved to settle between Sehun’s legs, meeting his eyes, and seeing satisfaction there, like whatever he saw in Jongin was exactly how he wanted it. This was exactly how he wanted it._

_Heat flooded through him, and the sudden urge to cry returned, though no identifiable sadness accompanied it, so he spoke instead, hoping that if he ignored it, that the feelings would go away._

_“Do you know how stretching works?”_

_Sehun shot him a look, but ultimately nodded, parting his legs a bit further for Jongin._

_Sensing his tenseness, Jongin uncapped the lube, but then leaned up so he hovered over the spread out form of his classmate. “Have you ever thought about me while doing it?”_

_Sehun’s cheeks went bright red, and he immediately started protesting, Jongin discreetly warming up the lube in his hand, “Excuse you, who said I do this?”_

_“No one. Do you?”_

_“No! I—” But he cut off when Jongin’s hand closed around his cock, thumb tracing the vein on the underside carefully._

_Sehun swallowed hard, and stared over Jongin’s shoulder. “Will it hurt?”_

_Something hard settled in Jongin’s stomach, and his hand moved to trace down his perenium to his entrance, finger circling the ring of muscle, touch as light as a feather. “It might feel weird. But it will not hurt.”_

_His voice had taken on a fierce undertone and Sehun’s lips parted slightly. Jongin had just pushed the tip of his finger in when Sehun moved up to kiss him, the touch a whisper, his lower lip trembling slightly, one hand going to cradle the man’s jaw. It was the kind of sweetness that reminded you of a simpler time, of too much candy and warm summer nights._

_It was the kind of sweetness that Jongin couldn’t bear._

_Finger crooking within him, Sehun drew back himself from the kiss, inhaling in surprise. “Wow, that’s weird.”_

_Jongin scoffed, “You’ll get used to it.”_

_Sehun shot him an unamused look, and Jongin wiggled his eyebrows at him suggestively, before shifting back, wanting to add more lube before inserting a second finger._

_When he settled back, Sehun rose up on his elbows to watch him, his chest moving in tightly controlled breaths, like even though he clearly wasn’t too bothered by the stretching, that he had to remind himself to stay calm nevertheless._

_Jongin added a lot more lube than he normally would and slowly inserted the second finger, making the mistake of looking up at Sehun’s face when he did: The man’s eyes had closed, head tilted back a bit, and right when Jongin began to wonder if the stance stemmed from pleasure or pain, the boy sighed, and it sounded like a release. Like something had settled, his chest even relaxing_

_“There you go.” He soothed, before adding his third finger, his free hand going to Sehun’s cock, stroking over it with a firm touch to prolong the erection. Jongin’s own had suffered a bit, but pulling Sehun apart like this, guiding him by the nose, was a kind of power play that he enjoyed._

_Ages might have passed in the warmth of his care, Jongin unsettled by his own gentleness, but soon enough he pulled his fingers free, wiping the excess lube on his hip, before grabbing the condom._

_Sehun had started panting a few minutes before, and he had just barely begun to get his breath under control as Jongin opened the condom and rolled it down his cock with all of the precision of a professional._

_Some troubled emotion swam across Sehun’s features, but Jongin didn’t have the time or mental capacity to address it: He shifted up, settled into place over Sehun, then spoke solemnly. “Can you wrap your legs up around my waist?”_

_Nodding, Sehun moved into position, shivering at the slick noises that came from Jongin lubing up his condom, and then finally asked when it slid into place, “You sure this won’t hurt?”_

_The way he stared up at Jongin had him pausing, suddenly picturing the morning to come when this would be all over._

_“Yes,” he murmured, hating the trust, the weakness in Sehun’s once cold eyes, hating his own weakness as one hand went to card through the boy’s hair, “This won’t hurt at all.”_

\-- 

The first time Jongin had walked past Sehun making out with his boy toy in public, Jongin didn’t register who it was until he had long since passed them to go into a coffee shop. America was weird; people would settle on benches, or against buildings or trees, or wherever they could manage and just suck face like it was no big deal. He liked that kind of mood in clubs, but out on the tree, with nothing to hide behind, it was like couple shirts or linked arms back home: Possession. Telling the world “this is mine, back off.” And in America, there was the added “look what I’m getting that you’re not.” 

When he began to wonder at the figure on the bench, if it was really Sehun, he blew off the thought, figuring he really didn’t need to torture himself with it. 

Until it happened a second time, and a third, and it was always with the same short shit that he saw at the party. 

Most people would assume coincidence, but he remembered—oh, how he remembered—the way Sehun’s touches fell naturally, possessively without the least bit of force, like even just fingertips brushing his elbow was enough of a reminder. But he clung to this guy fiercely fiercely, like he could crush his head in his hands, like he wanted to show the world how into it he was. 

Jongin knew, and he hated how he responded to it; his days turning irritable and tension filled that no low-pressure shower at the end of the day could help. 

He had come to America on the wings of too many nights spent tossing and turning, Jongin’s mind running from the empty dissatisfaction that he felt whenever he touched another. When he heard Sehun was leaving, he drank himself silly, found himself in more beds than he could even remember, wanting to show himself that scorning the other, ignoring his desperate, then furious text messages, ripping up the note he slipped him in class, was the best choice. 

Looking at Sehun had become a chore—because where he used to see scorn, and an inevitable hunger, he now felt the fire that he had closed himself off from in Sehun’s gaze, ripping through him with a wild hatred that would incinerate him if got too close. 

In those moments, he would laugh loudly with his friends, talking about the desperate text messages he had gotten the night before from other lovers, how he really needed to cut back on the sex if he wanted to pass his exams. But if he thought ignoring Sehun would alleviate the fire, it only burned hotter, searing into the back of his neck when he would tell these stories, the hatred so palpable in the room that he could choke on it. 

When he had touched down in the States, he only saw that look, the bone-deep anger that Sehun never forgot once, the first time they had seen each other again. 

Jongin never once let himself think about what the collective things meant in relation to Sehun: The first time he offhandedly mentioned to a friend that he slept with someone who made him feel like he had been caught in a tornado of heat and passion, they stared at him, then laughed. 

“Shit it would be just your luck to meet, fuck, and dump your soulmate.” 

And his world had stopped spinning for that moment, his mind running over the times he swore Sehun’s left eye flashed blue, the times that he somehow knew Sehun had entered the room even if his eyes were closed and the other hadn’t made a sound. 

“That’s a movie trope.” He had responded, scoffing, “If it’s real, why don’t they have machines and shit to help you find your soulmate? If it’s a real thing that actually happens?” 

He denied it until well into the night, when he had plenty to drink, but still felt his anger, didn’t even take someone home in his rush to get away from these mad people who wouldn’t let him get away from one puny high school boyfriend that meant nothing. 

Soulmates were manufactured by the greeting card and candy company to make White Day and Valentine’s Day Big Deals; to make them a necessity to those that used to skip out on them. They weren’t real. 

\-- 

_The moment he had pushed the full way inside of Sehun, Jongin’s mind went white, words fading to the overwhelming tight heat, his cock throbbing within the other, his body burning up under the sensation, the rush making him gasp like air suddenly wasn’t enough for his lungs. All he could feel were Sehun’s nails on his back, his legs tight around his waist, and he could have lost himself to those things, might never have resurfaced, if it wasn’t for the whisper from the boy below him:_

_“Jongin…I know this is a pretty big achievement for you, but could you move?”_

_And what made it worse is, in his weakened state, the sarcasm, the chip of coldness, it all called back to the Sehun that always grabbed his attention in class: With his calculating, unconcerned confidence, the way he would lean back in his chair, chest slightly forward like he was ready to show you how insignificant you were if you dared approach him._

_Jongin just swallowed and started to move his hips, mind buzzing as he briefly touched the hatred that he broke the vision he saw of the other—the only thing that made him interesting._

_Sehun groaned below him, started to move with him, the pace becoming faster, hotter, the air burning as it was sucked into their lungs, the sound of skin on skin filling the air. His fingers closed on Jongin’s biceps, short, bluntly cut nails digging in, and Jongin hated himself for turning the one enigma in class into another mindless follower who wanted his dick._

_Torn between anger and hopeless arousal, Jongin let himself be drawn down into a messy kiss, taking over the thrusts, pushing hard and fast in and out of the other, shaking his bed with the force of his motions._

_Not seeming to mind, Sehun groaned into the kiss, hips moving in tandem, and pleasure filled Jongin as far as his heart, which rested angrily on its bed of coals, unable to stay cold with the assault. He would not yield to another like this—not when the only thing that waited for a person under this kindness was a total and complete boring hub of affection._

_Sehun cried out his name, and for a moment he forgot his disdain in the beautiful sound of release, the boy’s head thrown back, his hair mussed and brushed back hastily from earlier, and Jongin watched him for a long moment, drinking in the sight, as he knew, deep down, he could never see it again._

_The moment they came, they clung to each other, Jongin managing to hold himself up by sheer force of will, Sehun still wrapped around him._

_Jongin didn’t know what his eyes showed, but Sehun’s were on him, drinking him in like he couldn’t get enough, his lips soft and plump from their hard kisses. Something wrenched in his chest, and every vain thought he spent on appreciating the boy’s body evaporated, to be replaced by pain that he refused to identify._

_“Pretty good,” Sehun admitted in a hazy voice._

_“Sehun…” he sighed, wondering if the other heard the goodbye as clearly as he did._

\-- 

Midterm week flitted by like a fever dream, matched only by the speeding sensation of too much coffee to compensate for too little sleep. Jongin hated living in the frat house entirely after two months, with its collection of loud, disgusting men that had the new initiates clean up after everyone in the most senority-rules bullshit that he had seen since coming to the States. Cleaning was for mothers and those paid to do it, but he found himself bent over a toilet bowl one too many times, because while the senior members liked him enough to keep him away from kitchen duty, even he couldn’t talk himself out of scrubbing the toilets when they discovered the smells didn’t get to him like it did for others. 

He hated the tacky, elbow length rubber gloves—the smell they left on the skin was indescribable; like the world’s worst cologne. It wouldn’t go away until he showered, but why would he shower when he just finished scrubbing the shower? 

Stress crawled beneath his skin like ants, and while he thought being closer to Sehun would chase away the hollowing, nearly borderline wasting that he felt when he jolted awake from a nightmare, the shorter distance only made it worse. The looks never faded in strength, no matter how much he was exposed to the other, and Jongin couldn’t even smirk at him anymore; he could barely manage to hold his gaze before his head would drop to the side, heavy with shame and the weight of the pure, unfiltered anger directly squarely at him. 

His scrubbing strength weaned a bit at the memory, and he had to go back over the same spot a few times, before he started scrubbing hard again. This wasn’t the kind of frat that they drank every other night at, but Jongin had cleaned a decent amount of puke out of bathrooms anyway—and whichever cruel person put him on bathroom duty the week of midterms clearly wanted him to add to it. It was impossible not to think of Sehun, in that regard. 

Nauseating smells clung to the floor by the toilet, some grainy residue lingering just to the side of the bowl, and Jongin took a deep breath, brandishing his scrub brush like a gun, before he dove in with more gumption than the activity rightfully deserved. 

The door opened and shut behind him and Jongin had to bite back the groan that wanted to slip out, already hating that he had to wear ratty clothes in front of other people to keep from unnecessarily staining his actual things. 

“Aim like your life depends on it.” He announced, not caring that there was a chance the person was an upperclassman, “Because it does.” 

Whoever came in stilled, and Jongin felt rather than saw that he was in trouble, a pale blur moving out of the corner of his eye, a hand grabbing frantically for the doorknob, only for them to both hear the telltale clunking noise of a stuck door. 

“Are you—” The man’s voice, sharp and sudden, cut through Jongin’s hazed understanding of his predicament. 

Standing up and turning around, Jongin brushed his mussed hair out of his face, taking in the angry, tense form of his ex, trying to leave the bathroom. 

“What the fuck?” He snapped, calling through the door, then wheeling to face Jongin. “What is this, huh? Do you think this is cute?” 

Jongin held up his toilet brush defensively. “I swear I don’t know what’s going on. I mean, look at me. I wouldn’t dress like this if I thought I was going to see you.” He fought back a wince at how pathetic that came off, but it apparently fed into Sehun’s view of narcissist Jongin, because he pressed on. 

“You had the door closed. You weren’t locked in here before.” 

“The door doesn’t lock from the outside.” Jongin shook his head, “Maybe someone noticed the death glares and thought it would be funny.” 

“It’s not.” Sehun’s anger radiated off of him, and if it had a heat equivalent, they both would have melted on the spot. “Fucking funny.” 

“Yeah well, that’s not my fault.” Jongin put his hands on his hips, then nearly died of mortification when he remembered his stupid, ‘50s housewife rubber gloves. 

Peeling them off and wincing at the smell, he asked, “Why don’t you just call someone?” 

Sehun shot an unappreciative glare in his direction then whipped out his phone, dialing someone, then someone else, before sighing, closing it. 

“Jongdae’s coming.” He replied matter-of-factly, “So do me a favor and don’t talk to me until he gets here.” 

“You don’t want to help—” 

“I said,” he turned to him, “shut the _fuck up_.” 

Jongin looked at him, then scoffed under his breath, before he went to grab a wet wipe, trying to get toothpaste stains off of one of the sinks. 

Minutes passed with Sehun standing resolutely to face the door, his shoulders tense, never letting up. Jongin had a feeling he could see him in the mirror but he refused to look. 

Having no such reluctance himself, his eyes roamed over those familiar shoulders, and somehow they seemed broader, like he took up more space now as a precaution for people who might try to take some parts of him away. The blond hair suited him, strangely. Jongin traced the lines of his arms, fixating a little too long on the visible veins in his forearms, his anger as visual as it always had been. 

“Stop it!” Sehun spat, finally. “Stop looking at me.” 

Jongin startled then, surprised that he had been watching after all. “I—” 

“Save it, okay?” 

That was the final straw. “Can I fucking speak? Is my existence just too much?” 

Sehun’s eyes found his in the mirror, and he saw a betrayal behind the anger, though he sensed no remaining pain to amplify. “Can you speak? Are you serious?” 

“Yes?” 

He let out an ugly snort. “You’re a damn hypocrite, Kim Jongin. A tortured nympho pretty boy who—” 

_“—is too afraid to admit he actually has feelings for something beyond himself!”_

_Jongin tried not to stare too hard, resentment rising in him for the other even though he had caused this, not Sehun. He hated him for the thing he always claimed to like most about Sehun; his unwillingness to take any amount of shit from people._

_But that same Sehun’s eyes were red, and he was looking at Jongin like he had given him all of the answers he needed, then taken away the questions._

“You don’t understand,” he tried. 

“Don’t understand?” But Sehun seemed to know he would be fighting that exact battle, and he had all of the answers ready. “What, that you came here for me? Because you realized that you’re never going to be happy unless you’re making my life miserable?” 

“That’s not it at all, will you—” 

_“—listen to yourself? We’re in high school, how did you think this was serious at all? How do you think ‘high school sweethearts’ is a real goal to achieve?”_

_Sehun stared at him blankly. “You hate rain because it chases everyone inside, soccer because you broke your leg when you were a kid, and you always eat ddeokbokki when you’re sad—”_

_“You think knowing little fun facts about me means you know anything at all?”_

_Resignation flickered across Sehun’s features for a moment, and he looked so, so tired that Jongin swore he could feel it, too._

_“I know you think you’re better than everyone else—that people are little specimen to psychoanalyze and laugh at. I know you, Kim Jongin, whether you want to admit it or not.”_

_“Do you want to know—”_

“—the truth?” Jongin took a deep breath. “I—” 

“No,” Sehun shook his head, “I don’t. Because I know what you’re going to say; you found your first gray hair and realized you were destined to a life of misery because no one else could love your bullshit. So you decided ‘eh, _I_ don’t even care that much about my future’ and you came here to try to win me back. You don’t get to make that decision.” He turned his phone’s backlighting on, frowning down at the screen as he moved to text someone, “You brought yourself out here. You can waste your time with your shitty ass English. I don’t have to deal with it.” 

Jongin went to protest, but he cut in, quoting near exactly, ““I was interesting at first. But I turned out to be boring, just like everyone else. I wasn’t supposed to care, or soften, or assume that because you texted me every night before bed that you actually wanted to date me. You wanted to get the hardest catch in class, and you did. In fact, you succeeded so well that you turned him into another hopeless idiot that thought that just because Kim Jongin looks like an angel, that he had to be hiding something good.’ Isn’t that what you said?” His eyes blazed with anger; the kind of fury that made the impossible things plausible. 

Once more, he went to speak, but Sehun interrupted him again, starting to say something about Chen, but Jongin had enough of letting the other talk over him. 

“You act like you know everything.” Jongin spat, “But you wouldn’t talk over me if you weren’t afraid—” 

“I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t see the point—” 

“No, be quiet!” He snapped, charging forward, Sehun growing alarmed enough at the proximity that he bought himself a few seconds of uninterrupted talking. “You interrupt me because you’re afraid I’m going to change your mind! If you really could completely cut me out, you wouldn’t be talking to me at all. You wouldn’t look so _angry,_ even now.” 

Now the tables had turned, and as Sehun tried to take control over the conversation, Jongin wouldn’t let him. “You’re afraid that I came here to ruin things for you again. And you’re afraid that you’re going to fall for it because, like it or not, you liked me, back then, because we _worked._ You were rude and sarcastic and scary to the girls, but I thought it was fascinating. You saw that.” Jongin had difficulty taking a breath after that, body rebelling against his next admission, “You _knew_ how I felt, and you’d never…been the subject of such intense interest before. It flattered you, and you decided to play your own game, right? You wanted to see how much you could get out of me. And then you cracked first.” 

Sehun settled then, arms crossing his chest as he stared at Jongin. When it became clear that he wouldn’t interrupt him, he replied, “You’re avoiding any specific words.” 

Surprised by the turn, Jongin stiffened, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Of course you don’t.” He whipped out his phone and dialed a number, swearing when no one picked up. “What the fuck, Jongdae.” 

He started banging on the door, yelling loudly, and Jongin let him, staring down at the toilet like it might tell him something. This continued until Sehun paused, frowning. 

“I…hear voices?” 

His eyes shot to Jongin again, narrowed to angry slits. 

“Why do you think I want to be in a room with someone who hates me this much?” Jongin asked, sighing, “Honestly, I’m aware my best chance of winning you over again would be if you were drunk or high. I’m not stupid.” 

Sehun scowled, though superimposed behind his face was the wide-eyed pain of the younger man, “You’re disgusting. Stay away from me.” 

Jongin inhaled carefully, seeing Sehun cringe like he was being hit with each word that left Jongin’s lips. 

“You were my match.” Jongin spoke instead, voice gentle, and he hated himself for it, but he knew he was talking to the past Sehun, like he was giving up and saying goodbye. “You were sarcastic and smart, and you didn’t take my shit seriously. It was like someone gave you a map to deal with me. And I’m…sorry I made it seem like I was spreading rumors about you.” He moved to sit back on the bathroom floor, “I didn’t. I didn’t talk about our sex life. I didn’t—it wasn’t bad sex. It was bad because I was trying to stay distant, but I couldn’t disconnect from you. 

“I guess I was scared.” He let out a small sound that could have been a laugh, “I didn’t want someone like you. I didn’t want someone at all. And we were kids. Is that really—” Jongin broke off himself at the expression on Sehun’s face; because just for a moment, he seemed _afraid,_ like if he let himself listen, it would do worse than hurt. 

Silence fell over the pair of them, like the awful quiet that came where tears should have, and Jongin inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of cleaning fluids, wondering if they could make him pass out. 

Finally they heard a “what the fuck?” from outside, and a startled sound, before something was forcibly moved away from the door. It slid open with a click, and one of the senior members stuck his head inside, asking, “What’s going on?” 

Sehun strode out before Jongin even took a breath, who didn’t bother to follow, though he did hear “fucking _Jongdae”_ before he contemplated if he should finish cleaning the toilet or not. 

\-- 

_He pretended not to see him, not to notice his presence when he came into rooms, not to notice how the desperation, the genuine feelings, morphed to anger, pain twisting Sehun into the monster Jongin thought had drawn him in the first time._

_Sehun drew away from his friends and started smoking; his countenance became crueler, and he heard stories throughout the remainder of the things he had done, if rumor was to be believed. Part of Jongin was fascinated at the thought that he could have crushed the softness out of someone, but rather than feel satisfaction, any form of detached interest, he felt the heaviness in his stomach like he had just been punched._

_Without noticing it, he settled down, went out less, focused more on schoolwork, things that would take away free time to think. He drank more, fucked only when he was too far gone to talk his way out of the situations—because the moment he settled down, he remembered a specific pattern of moles on thighs that weren’t there, thin arms with enough strength to take anyone aback, and a pale scar on the right cheek, too pale to see in normal lighting._

_In losing him, he lost none of the disappointment, it gravitating to focus on himself, his personal life, and while he could still pull in whomever he desired, he could tell that his heart was no longer in it. He hadn’t loved Sehun., but he could have._

_And before he could spend another year being a coward, Sehun was gone; flying off to the United States to further his education._

_Jongin tried to tell himself that that was fate in and of itself, but he wasn’t so sure._

\-- 

Finding out your closest friend in a strange country fucked someone to help you out was a strange feeling. 

“So he’s calling you now…why?” 

Lu Han flushed and batted him away, turning off his phone’s screen. “None of your business. Now, how did your meeting go? I’m guessing not like you would have hoped.” 

Jongin repressed a sigh, laying back on Lu Han’s bed. “It went about as well as I hoped. He didn’t hit me or call the cops.” 

“Now you’re being dramatic.” 

He ignored the finger prodding his side, and instead rolled so he wasn’t facing the other. “This is irritating.” 

“Well, yeah. He’s probably about as stubborn as you. And since you fucked him over before, giving in now would seem pretty weak.” 

“I suppose.” Jongin grumbled. 

Lu Han considered him, gallantly ignoring his phone, and then suggested, “Why don’t you give it time? You’re only here for a semester, but that’s still enough time for him to start calming down now that you apologized.” 

Jongin shrugged, “If he accepted it. It’s a bit ridiculous to apologize about.” 

“Your fault.” Lu Han immediately then dodged a pillow thrown at his head. 

\-- 

The first time he saw him after that was at their frat’s cafeteria; and Jongin knew for sure then that Sehun could sense him entering a room as well, their eyes meeting for a brief second overtop of the others’ heads before he was drawn back into conversation by the person sitting next to him. Jongin didn’t know whether to take that as a victory, since the man hadn’t had time to react to his presence, but the fact that he wasn’t scowling seemed like a good thing. 

The second time was a scarier; he had just finished class, and was going to meet Lu Han and his boy toy for coffee. Sehun was standing with them, and his heart nearly stopped. 

When Sehun slowly turned to see who his companions were waving at, a vision flashed in Jongin’s mind—things had worked out, and he was meeting Lu Han and his guy with Jongin. He could walk up to Jongin and insult something that he was wearing, then be pulled in for a kiss. It seemed so rude, but it _fit_ so perfectly into the roles they had at their most comfortable that he came to a stop in the middle of the hall, overwhelmed by the reality of the vision. 

Sehun’s brows pinched when he stopped, but rather than look angry, he looked irritated, and he said goodbye to Chen before walking the opposite way. 

And it began happening more and more; around campus, at the restaurants in town, even at the movies once, their eyes locking across the crowd of seats. 

Now when he saw him kissing the shorter man in public, he saw the way his hands dug in desperately to his shoulders, like he was trying to make a point, rather than enjoy the ministrations. Even from so far away he felt he could hear Sehun’s breath huffing out, feel the heat radiating out from him. He began dreading seeing them together for an entirely different reason, and he tried to focus on his phone when those moments happened, though that didn’t help anything. 

It culminated in a party that they both went to, and somehow, of course, they found themselves standing on the edge of the party with their beers, both tipsy enough to talk to each other about meaningless things. For the first time possibly ever, Jongin felt like a normal person—like he could enjoy Sehun’s company without any ulterior thoughts or motives. 

Eventually conversation turned a bit more serious, and Jongin found himself asking, “So, how are you and that guy doing?” 

Sehun paused, and Jongin wondered if he was about to be yelled at for not remembering his name, but Sehun just shrugged. 

“That good, eh?” 

“Shut up.” Sehun elbowed him, but there was no real aggression behind the motion, and when his bare elbow brushed his arm, he felt the old stirrings of fire. 

Jongin found his heart rate had jumped up, but rather than getting annoyed, he took a long drink of beer, before saying, “So, when the semester ends, I’m thinking of sticking around instead of going straight back to Korea.” 

“Oh?” Sehun polished off his drink, and they both moved to go get more. 

“Yeah…I feel like, there’s a lot—here for me. You know?” 

Sehun shot a sudden look his way, and Jongin’s breath caught for a moment, fear warming his stomach. The man reached to refill their drinks, and Jongin noticed his hand shook, ever so slightly. 

“Do you think?” And his voice was a bit cold, but Jongin let himself hear the vulnerability underneath, and he found his own hand going out to steady Sehun’s. 

Their eyes locked, and Jongin smiled, weakly. “I hope so.” 

Sehun drew back then, and it might have been just a dream or a wish, but his cheeks looked redder than they had. 

That should have been the point where they separated, where Sehun went to find the short guy he had been attached to, though he could sort of sense that they weren’t actually together, and Jongin found Lu Han, not in any sort of mood to find a cute guy to take home, but he didn’t. 

When the beer began to taste a bit less alcoholic, he went to mix himself a drink, finding a half full bottle of vodka hidden behind a few empty ones, and he went to search for soda to mix with it, when suddenly an arm slipped past his, bare skin too hot at the brief contact as Sehun snagged the bottle, taking a swig of the alcohol, grunting a bit at the burn. 

“Didn’t take you for a pussy.” Sehun quirked an eyebrow in challenge, and Jongin snorted, downing the vodka he had poured for himself previously, laughing at the people that came in for beer, eyeing up the duo with their bottle. 

Jongin could pretend they only stayed for the bottle, but my god he must have forgotten to eat earlier, because within the next half an hour the room began to sway, and he forgot why he shouldn’t be leaning into the light contact he had with Sehun. 

Less and less people filtered into the kitchen as time passed, moving on to other parties or clubs, or retiring with a friend or a night of fun, and eventually they stumbled to a couch with new full cups of beer, together for reasons they didn’t have to think or worry about for the night. When the buzz would start to fade, sleep would come, and they could concern themselves with it in the morning. 

It was this conviction that had Jongin so surprised when Sehun spoke up, voice partially muffled as he spoke into his drink, “This wasn’t so bad.” 

Jongin glanced at him, startled, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

The fading sounds of a dying party shifted between them, and it was only after a long beat, the sounds of Sehun swallowing, that the other spoke again, “I’m tired of being angry at you.” 

His heart skipped a beat. “Oh?” 

“Yeah.” 

Jongin ignored how the man’s voice cracked, and fought to keep his own steady. “Then maybe…maybe…” He couldn’t finish, didn’t have it in him to hear words of rejection if he did. 

Sehun seemed to understand, and he could feel him relax beside him. “Yeah…” 

The night went on quietly, but right as Jongin began to toe the line between pleasantly drunk and sleep, he shifted, arm pressing to Sehun’s. Holding his breath, he held still, waiting to see if he should move, if the other would move. 

Without a word, he felt warm fingers lace between his, a wavering hope stirring in the air around them, and as he hid a smile in his drink, he swore the drink shone slightly blue.

**Author's Note:**

> \- short guy is Kim Joonmyeon, I just never saw a place to fit his name in lol  
> \- title taken from the Ladies Code song "The Rain"  
> \- I did/am in the process of submitting three other huge fics for ficfests, so this is the first of a couple (the product of having so much more free time this semester \o/ )


End file.
